


Campaign Prompt Collection

by Crewe



Category: Campaign (Podcast)
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-12-07 18:25:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11629320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crewe/pseuds/Crewe
Summary: Campaign prompts from tumblr, posted here to collect them in one place & to try to help us get our own tag ;_;





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually ask for fic prompts bc I didn't think I could write them well but I enjoyed these and I think they turned out well, so if you want me to write any more feel free to send me prompts on tumblr @cat-pics-from-zero
> 
> (im easily best at/prefer gen, but if you /really/ want shipfic i can try??)

**Anonymous asked: I wish you would write a fic where . . . Leenik and Tryst get actual for real Not On Purpose captured. or they just hang out, either way**

 

**\--**

 

“Leenik.”

“… Yeah?”

“Leenik, I need you to level with me here, pal. Because we’re handcuffed in the back of an Imperial transport right now and I really need to know: did you get us captured on purpose?”

“No!”

“Leenik, I really need you to tell the truth right now, because I swear to god if this was your plan–”

“I  _promise_  I did not get us captured on purpose.“ 

What Leenik doesn’t mention is that he was absolutely planning on suggesting it when they met up with Bacta at the cantina to figure out their next steps, but they’d gotten snatched up by stormtroopers before they’d gotten there, so technically his plan wasn’t in place yet.

And sure, maybe he’d taken Tryst on a detour through that dark alley to scope it out as a potential place to stage their capture later–it always pays to be prepared, after all–but all that  _really_  means is that this plan would have gone  _swimmingly_ if they’d, y’know, not gotten captured before they could get captured.

Tryst gives him a suspicious look like maybe he guessed some of that stuff, anyways. Or maybe he just doesn’t believe him. It’s hard to say when Leenik can’t quite bring himself to look him in the face.

“All right, well,” he says. “Regardless of whether this is all your fault or not–which it definitely is, by the way–we gotta figure out a way to escape.”

A stormtrooper helmet pokes back from the cockpit of the transport. “We can hear everything you two are saying, you know,” they say in that nasally voice universal to stormtroopers.

Tryst glares at him. “Excuse me, I was talking to my friend. That is incredibly rude of you to interrupt me.”

The stormtrooper stares at him. “You were talking about escaping.”

“He  _was_ , until you interrupted us,” Leenik says, annoyed.

“Yeah, I’m sure as hell not talking about it now that you’re standing there,” Tryst adds, snorting. “That would be ridiculous.”

The stormtrooper slowly looks from Tryst to Leenik, then back.

“So are you gonna leave, or… ?” Leenik asks. “‘Cause the helmets kinda freak me out, not gonna lie.”

“Yeah, and I’m allergic to the color white, so I’m gonna need you to go before I break out in hives, and nobody wants that,” Tryst says, making a face.

“Don’t… don’t try to escape,” the stormtrooper finally says, sounding thoroughly weirded out. It’s really astounding just how often they’ve heard that exact tone coming from people all over the galaxy.

Tryst and Leenik give them matching disdainful glares until their heads pops back out of view into the cockpit, then relax and turn back to each other.

“So, any ideas?” Leenik asks.

Tryst hums as he looks around the relatively bare back of the transport, then shrugs. “Nope.”

“Me neither.”

The two stare at each other in silence for another moment before Leenik cracks a smile.

“I’m having a good time hanging out with you, though. I feel like we never just talk anymore.”

A grin spreads across Tryst’s face and he leans back in his seat, raising his cuffed-together hands up to rest behind his head. “Y’know what, buddy? Me too.”

Leenik relaxes in his seat, content to see where this trip takes them and go from there. Bacta and Lyn and Tony are all out there, and when they don’t show up to the meeting point they’ll figure out something’s wrong and come looking. He has every confidence they can get out of Imperial custody; it’ll hardly have been the first time. And maybe they’ll get the information they were looking for in the meantime! After all, getting captured has always worked out for them, on purpose or not.

“… But for real, you  _swear_  you didn’t get us captured on purpose?”

“ _Yes_!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Anonymous asked: I wish you would write a fic where...Tryst is hung up on the fact that Zevowk said he would be bad in bed and is whining. The crew has to deal with him, and of course (or maybe?) unsuccessfully try to talk some sense into him/get him to Shut Up**

 

**\--**

 

Tryst hasn’t moved from the booth since he plopped down next to Bacta with a cup of caf and a sour expression over an hour ago, and hasn’t shut up since then either, alternating between muttering under his breath and loudly accusing the room at large.

“I don’t know where he gets off saying that stuff about me, he doesn’t know me, I’m Tryst Valentine, does he know who he was talking to?”

It’s been an unending ramble since he sat down and normally Bacta wouldn’t care, but he’s trapped Bacta in the corner between him and the wall and he can’t escape without physically climbing over Tryst or the table.

He managed to successfully tune him out long enough to make significant headway into the book he definitely didn’t steal from Leenik’s room, but it’s been at least ten minutes since he finished and he’s starting to seriously weigh the costs to his dignity against the benefits of not having to listen to anymore whining.

“Stupid blue dumb stupid idiot blue not even  _handsome_ –”

Bacta slams his book down on the table. “Tryst.”

Tryst blinks and stares at him, surprised, as if he’d forgotten Bacta was even there. “What?”

“Tryst, if you say another word about Zevowc, I’m going to throw you out the airlock.”

Tryst sneers, waving a hand dismissively. “Psh. Everyone knows you need at least one other vote to airlock me, and good luck getting that.”

“That’s Lyn’s mug.”

Tryst looks down at his untouched (now cold) caf, which true enough is in Lyn’s favorite, closely-guarded mug. He hastily shoves it away from him and just as hastily changes the subject.

“Look, Bacta, you don’t understand. Just because nobody wants to have sex with a clone–”

“All right, that is not what this conversation is about,” Bacta says, glaring at him. “This is about you whining all  _kriffing day_  because  _one_  person said you weren’t attractive–”

“First off, that is not what he said, and second of all, have you seen me? How could anyone even  _imply_  that–I’ll have you know that every single time I’ve attempted sex blackmail I have been  _wildly_  successful. What does Zevowc know? How many times has  _he_  committed sex blackmail, huh? Probably none! Probably zero times!”

Bacta groans and drags his hands down his face. He’s ready to try desperate measures–and maybe it’s the late hour, or the past however-long he’s been sitting here listening to Tryst’s whining, but he’s starting to get an idea.

He slowly turns to face Tryst in the booth, who instantly stills and squints at him suspiciously.

“Bacta. What are you doing?”

“Tryst,” Bacta says slowly. “You think I’m a Black Widow, right?”

“I mean obviously, yes, but what does that have to do with anything?” Tryst asks, slowly leaning away from him.

Bacta puts one hand up on the back of the booth behind him, and Tryst jumps, his eyes going wide in alarm. “Bacta! What are you doing?!”

“Sex blackmail,” Bacta says, giving him a stare with all the deathly seriousness that comes from enduring Tryst Valentine talking for over an hour straight and being  _done_  with it. “If you don’t shut up about Zevowc,  _forever_ , I will kiss you right now and you will die.”

Tryst makes a sound that can best be described as a squawk and scrambles out of his seat, holding out his hands defensively. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh, I would,” Bacta says with threatening gravitas. “I’ve been stuck here listening to you whine all night, and if I hear one more word of it it’s  _over_  for you.”

Tryst gives him a long, discerning look, and appears to find him serious, as he rapidly backpedals out of the kitchen, yelling as he goes, “Fine! Whatever! I’ll stop talking about it! Just keep your awful cursed lips  _away_  from me!”

As he disappears out of sight, Bacta sighs and turns back around to the table, jumping as Tryst pokes his head back into the kitchen one last time to exclaim, “And that is  _not_  what sex blackmail means!” before disappearing for good.

Bacta rolls his eyes and chuckles to himself as he picks up the book again and opens it to where he left off.

The things he does for peace and quiet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remembered to add this one a little late!
> 
> prompt from @rattyjol: Lyn and Bacta hanging out

Lyn and Bacta have a routine in the morning. It really only takes a couple mornings of stumbling over each other in the quiet kitchen before Bacta figures out the right time to ask K.A.T. to start the caf machine so that there are two steaming mugs waiting when Lyn pads blinking and bleary-eyed in from her bunk, notebook tucked under one arm.

It only takes a few more before they don’t even have to speak. Bacta brings two mugs to the table (one made of metal, dented and battered from years of long use in the field, and the other a chipped and cherished  _Galaxy’s Best Dad_  mug given at least partially as a joke but received as something far from it), slides all the way in towards the wall, and opens a small wall panel hidden behind framed needlepoint lovingly proclaiming  _Keep Calm And Drink Wine_. From the panel, he withdraws a datapad, powers it up, and starts reading.

Lyn wanders in barely a minute later, bee-lining for the table. She slips in beside Bacta and slumps against him slightly as she sips her caf and lays her notebook out on the table, eventually waking up enough from the hot drink to pull out a pen, open the notebook, and start writing.

A while passes in silence before Bacta lets out a scandalized gasp and drops the datapad, before quickly scooping it back up and pulling it close to his face.

“That  _sleemo_!”

Lyn immediately looks up from her notebook. “What? What is it? Are you still on  _27 Suitors_?”

Bacta makes an affirming noise, his eyes flicking rapidly across the screen. “J’ann is cheating on Chessa!”

Lyn gives a small gasp of her own. “Is that the Togruta?”

“No, the Nautolan!”

Lyn gives another, larger gasp. “But he was the  _good_  one!”

“I know!”

She drops her pen and leans further into Bacta’s space, trying to read over his shoulder. “With who, what’s happening?”

“With the Togruta!”

“But he’s such a jerk!”

“I  _know_!”

“ _Why_?”

Bacta finally drops the holopad, turning to face her. His eyes are bright with excitement, and still rather scandalized. “I don’t know! One of the other suitors just went to see if he was going to send flowers to Chessa, and they caught them together!”

“Which one, who found them?”

“The droid!”

Lyn gasps, her hand flying up to cover her mouth, her eyes wide and delighted as she exclaims in a whisper, “They can’t lie!”

“I  _know_ ,” Bacta drags it out, both pained and excited. “They’re going to tell Chessa, and she’s still in the hospital after that terrible speeder accident that killed four of the other suitors. Who knows how she’ll take it!”

Lyn nods sagely. “I do still wonder why she thought it was a good idea to try to have sex with four other people while driving at top speed on a speeder.”

Bacta shrugs, nodding. “That was a very reckless move. I also don’t think the author has any experience with Cerean physiology.”

“Or Twi’lek, for that matter,” Lyn says, shuddering slightly. “I still remember that scene in the pool on Naboo.”

Bacta shudders in sympathy, then looks mournfully into the bottom of his empty mug before sighing and placing the datapad back on the table. “I need more caf before I can read on.”

Lyn huffs a short laugh and slips out of the booth to allow him to get out, remaining on her feet and stretching as Bacta pads over to the caf machine.

“Tamlin should be up soon,” she says, glancing at the clock on the wall. Bacta hums in acknowledgment.

“I’ll start breakfast. Do you mind getting the pancake mix out of the pantry? I need to hide the book again. We’ll have to wait and see how this turns out tomorrow.”

“Or you could, I don’t know, tell Leenik that you like his book and just read it in the open,” Lyn says with the air of someone who has had this argument before and knows they’re going to be shot down, rifling through the cabinets and pulling down ingredients.

Bacta huffs, turning off the datapad and tucking it safely away back in the compartment behind the needlepoint. “If Leenik knew, then Tryst would find out, and the Force knows Tryst doesn’t need any more reasons to make fun of me.”

Lyn sighs but doesn’t dispute it, trading places with him as Bacta pulls out his apron and a mixing bowl and starts to make the batter while she brings both mugs over to the caf machine to refill. She hands his off then stands leaning back against the counter serenely sipping from her own, watching Bacta hum to himself as he makes pancakes.

“So, what are you writing about this morning?” he finally asks her. “Made any new discoveries lately?”

Lyn chuckles. “Almost.” At Bacta’s encouraging hum she continues, placing her mug on the counter to go retrieve her notebook and leaf through it. “I was surfing the holonet the other day and I stumbled upon a copy of a book I’ve been looking for.”

At Bacta’s startled look, she quickly adds, “No, not the Book of the Whills, of course not. An ordinary book. It’s by a professor from my university, on his theory behind the disappearance of an ancient civilization from this small planet in the Outer Rim. It’s very complicated and he has a very pretentious style, so I’ve been making sense of his theories on my own, as well as writing down my own opinions. Maybe I’ll publish them some day, when I’m not a fugitive.”

Bacta laughs, then nods at her notebook. “Tell me about it.”

Lyn raises her eyebrows. “Are you sure? Like I said, it’s… complicated.”

Bacta grins at her, flipping a pancake high in the air and catching it back in the pan without looking. “Yeah! You’re really smart, Lyn, if anyone can explain it in a way that makes sense, it’s you.”

Lyn huffs and looks down at her notebook, embarrassed but pleased. “Well, sure, then.”

Later, when Tamlin stumbles into the kitchen rubbing his eyes with Tony padding along at his heels, Bacta will whisk him up and set him down at the table, where a plate a steaming pancakes and a glass of juice are waiting for him. And when Tryst and Leenik show up a few hours later, covered plates will be waiting for them as well. And when Leenik asks if anybody has seen his copy of  _27 Suitors_ , Lyn and Bacta will very carefully shrug and deny it.

But for now it’s just the two of them, standing in the only lit room on the darkened Mynock, sipping caf and making pancakes while they discuss ancient civilizations and the fraught romance of fictional strangers.


End file.
